


Double Exposure

by dreamingofawolf (rl4sb4eva)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Breathplay, Coming In Pants, Execution, Gags, Ghost!Hux, Hanging, Implied Period Typical Homophobia, It's not as brutal as it sounds, M/M, Ouija, hair cutting, honestly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rl4sb4eva/pseuds/dreamingofawolf
Summary: Ben has moved with his family into an old estate and while hiding from his parents arguing finds a room with a fireplace and many books.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [echoist (griesly)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/griesly/gifts).



> Full detailed synopsis in notes at the end.

Ben can hear the low hum of the argument in his bedroom, even with the pillow over his head. Even the soft clink of ice cubes against crystal glasses seems to filter through the flocked hallways and straight into his head with a sharp drag that makes red flash behind his eyelids. So he grabs his phone, fingers white knuckled around it and starts to walk, screwing his headphones in deep enough they hurt as soft puffs of dust float above the thick dark wine red carpets that line the house. 

Old, cobwebbed frames line the walls, the glares of previous generations of his Mother's adopted lineage glaring at him as if he's trespassing, and he wraps his hoodie tighter around him as a breeze seems to trail him, slipping through the cracks in his clothes as easily as it does the cracks around the warped window frames.

He stumbles slightly as the carpet ends abruptly a foot away from a dark wood door, a dull iron rod holding the end down and Ben reaches out absently to turn the handle, glancing over his shoulder sharply when it creaks as it moves, before dully laughing off the sharp spike of fear and feeling of eyes on him as the door cracks open and chill air is replaced by a soft warmth and the deep, comforting smell of pine trees. He steps inside and closes the door behind him quickly and looks around the dark panelled room.

A large winged chair angled just right in front of a large crackling fire, light marks of wear on the edges of the arms, and a low table with a book on it.

The low flames catch on gold and glint in the corner of his vision and he turns to see a wall of bookshelves, lined with leather and fabric bound books, their gilt lettering pristine.

He runs his finger along the edge, grabbing a book of ghost stories and laughing softly to himself. The room seems huge, but a step seems to move him close enough to sit down as he fiddles with his playlists, feeling rather than hearing the light crack of the spine of the book as he opens it. 

He turns through the first story quickly, his breath catching as the hero falls to his death at the hands of a cackling spirit. Turning the page he pauses, eyes falling on the cut out square as he swears quietly. The centre of the pages cut into an upside down heart shape and creating a cavity that seems to bore through most of the rest of the book, a varnished wooden shape nestled inside, with a small circle of glass in its centre.

Ben turns the book over and lets it fall into his hand, running his fingers over the clean edges of it and grunting as a sharp edge slices through his finger tip. He puts the book down hurriedly, examining the edges until he sees a small metal plate just peeking out of the edge of the shape, he racks his brain for the word recognising it from terrible horror movies he'd watched with his dad growing up and finds it just out of his reach. He sees the way the wood is shaped above the metal and a small indent in it and slides his nail in place to catch and pull it out.

It's silvery, thin as a razor blade and slides out noiselessly, flexing slightly as Ben brings it up to his face and reads the black text stamped into it.

" _A.Hux, No.1977, 7.3.1888_ " There’s no further information on it and Ben slides it slowly back into its home, looking quizzically down at the warm brown of the wood and it’s fluid grain before reaching for the hollowed out book and finally glancing down at the table. His eyes drift across the lettering for a few seconds before his brain catches on and he shoves the book aside to run his finger over the ouija board built into the top of it, letters, numbers, a YES and a NO in dark pearlescent inlay mirroring his face as his eyebrows go up in surprise.

He shifts the small table centrally in front of him and slides it as close as he can, knocking against the leg of the chair as he does and flinching as the sound echoes in the too large room. He pulls his headphones off and lets his phone play a low soundtrack of film scores on the arm of the chair, humming along as he drops the wooden shape onto the table in the middle.

“This is absolutely a great idea. Good thing it’s all bullshit.” He mutters to himself as he settles himself in the chair and leans forward slightly, his fingers tapping quietly as they settle on the cool wood. “Um… Hello?”

His voice wavers slightly, and he laughs in his throat. “I should probably have watched a video or read something on how this is supposed to work, or you know the motions you’re supposed to do in the vain hope it’ll work. I’m talking to myself right now.”

He yelps and shoves backward into the chair when the wood under his fingers gets colder and begins to move across the table, he tries to pull his hands back, but they feel frozen, stuck to the wood and drawn along with it.

The glass circle surrounds the word NO when the wood finally stops moving, and the cold frozen feeling shifts under the sleeves of his hoodie, wrapping around his wrists as the wood starts to slide back towards the middle of the table.

“I… Let me go?” He keeps trying to pull his hands away but the cold is heavy, like metal shackles against his skin, tight and sharp at its edges and his hands won’t move, his fingers stuck to the wood.

There’s a slight jerk as the wood slides again. NO.

Ben’s throat is closing, panic shifting up through him as he tries to move, run, leave, and his voice catches every time he thinks about screaming.

“Are you…” Ben tugs his arms viciously and feels his shoulder pull slightly. “This is ridiculous, I don’t believe in you. I’m asleep, this is a dream.”

NO.

He gasps as something digs into his side and pain flares under his ribs as he tries to twist away. “Ow, what the fuck?” He shivers as a cold burst of air brushes his ear, and he refuses to accept it as the low chuckle he knows it to be. “What are you?”

The wooden shape moves slowly across the table, smooth and precise, nearly silent as it starts towards the letters.

W.H.O.

“What? Oh… Who are you?” Ben asks, his hands shaking hard against the restraining force and he can hear a slight jingle in the air like the quiet shift of chain links against each other.

H.U.X.

“From the plaque?”

YES.

He tries to shift forward as he feels a cold weight settle against his shoulder, sharp and stiff. “Is that you?”

C.H.I.N.

“Right, I uh… Will you let me go, please?”

Ben hears the chuckle this time, the cold shift of air, and the brush of what feels like cobwebs against the inside of his wrist. “What if I said I was going to piss myself?”

NO.

“Are you going to hurt me?” Ben whispers, the webs shifting up inside the sleeves of his cloths, cold and barely there.

“...aybe.” He catches part of the word and tries to jerk away as it repeats. “Maybe.”

“I heard that. I heard you. How did I hear you?”

“Stronger. I get stronger.” The syllables vary in volume, tumbling over each other as the chill flows against Ben’s skin, the press of a slim leg against his hip like ice, he glances over and sees nothing, but he can feel the shift of the muscles, the sharp jut of the knee against the meat of his thigh, and there’s a shifting of the denim that follows the shifts he can feel.

“What are you going to do to me?”

“With.” He feels the press of a slim arm around his waist, wrapping under his clothes and stroking cold as ice over his skin. Ben tries to shift back away from it, and gasps as he meets the resistance of a body behind him. Solid and frozen, seemingly wrapped around him in the small space between the edges of his body and the chair. “With you. Play with you.”

Slim fingertips skate down his side, and scratch short nails over his skin before pressing in hard and raking across the still covered side of Ben’s torso, the cold and the sharp pain make him cry out, fingers still held in place on the wood, arms stretched out and leaving him vulnerable.

“Sssh, it’s ok Kylo. It’s ok.” Ben cries out again as lips press against the lobe of his ear. “It’s ok.”

“Kylo? No, my name’s not… It’s Ben.”

“Kylo, my Kylo.” The lips continue down his throat, and he feels his hair pushed aside as the figure moves.

Ben can feel a small seed of warmth form in his stomach, as the soft cold kisses start to feel nice and soothing, a small knot of arousal tightening just from the sensation of being touched. “M’not…” He tries to say, “oh, oh fuck” as the arm around his waist slides lower and the cold scratching starts again in the dark hair above his soft cock.

Ben can feel the soft vibration of words being spoken into his skin, catching them here and there as the slow creep of fingertips reaches lower and touches the tip of his cock. “Ah fuck!” he calls out loudly, the shock making him twitch and shift back against the body. His stomach cramps slightly and he bends forward, catching his reflection in the tabletop. A flash of red hair above his shoulder, pale skin with dark shadows in the flickering firelight. “Oh, you. Oh god!” Ben freezes, meeting the pale eyes that catch his in the reflection, and the wide smile the man gives behind him.

“My Kylo, my boy, my love.” He can see as the thin lips move, and Hux lets his head roll back to expose the long pale glint of his throat, before resting his chin on Ben’s shoulder again and meeting his gaze. “Look at you. I waited for you. Your father, he… I didn’t touch that girl I swear, but he…” Ben watches Hux’s eyes go wide and the glimmer of a tear fall down a pale cheek.

“I’m not Kylo.” He says, quietly, almost sadly, eyes flicking to the dark skin shadowed behind Hux’s ear. “My name’s Ben.”

“Sssh. Please. I tried to get out, get back, but the chains, cold.” The bands at Ben’s wrist seem to tighten sharply, the force moving the wood enough that it squeaks under his rigid hands. “I begged to see you again. Resigned. Desperate. But he laughed.”

Ben gasps as he feels a hard pressure against the curve of his hipbone, the shift and rub of fabric against his skin, and the unmistakable shape of an erection against him, the hand in his underwear shifts enough that he can feel a ghostly knuckle toy with the flare of his cock head, and Hux starts kissing him again. The warm trail of a tear running down his shoulder and resting in his collarbone as it becomes ice cold and then flares to nothing. “Please, I… I don’t know what I can do to help you?”

“Do you know what he did? Did he tell you? Did anyone?”

“No… No, I…”

“She fell, the maid fell, but your Father… He told the council, the judge, the police that I’d driven her to it, taken her there and made her. I didn’t….” 

Ben feels the cold long slim fingers settle around his soft cock, the ridged pad of a thumb circling and circling.

“They took me, dragged me from the house. Muddied and torn and chained me up in that little cell under the gaol. Screamed and shouted at me… The things they said… You know what they said…”

Ben feels the shackles at his wrists shift slightly as if being placed on him, and a pull start at his upper arms, harsh rough hands digging into the soft skin and squeezing. He feels the pull of stones on his legs as if he’s being dragged and cries out as a sharp pain lances up through his ankle at the unmistakeable fall of a boot against it. He hears the silent screaming of words at him, catches the meaning of words he’s never heard before as they rush into his head like a waterfall. High jeering and the wet splat of spittle as it hits his face.

“I tried to get away, but there were too many, too tight. I tried to bite out, see if that would get them to let go.” Ben feels his jaw click, and a metallic tang swamp his tongue as Hux speaks against his skin. Tears falling heavier against him and unable to look away from the reflection. “They laughed. One took his glove and shoved it into my mouth, took a silk scarf from a lady and wrapped it over.” The taste of metal becomes mingled with mud and leather, and the scent of perfume fills his nose and overwhelms Ben enough that his eyes slip closed briefly.

They snap open at the sound of a desperate wet gasp behind him as Hux sobs against his throat. “It’s ok. Hux. It’s ok.” Ben feels the urge to comfort the crying man overwhelm his fear at the situation. The words feel muffled as they try to push past the taste in his mouth, his brain convinced the gag is there, that he really can’t speak. That the thumb of the foul glove is inching towards the back of his throat, but he forces them out.

“He… He told them things, I could hear it, from that little room, they were laying out my fate, making it all plausible. She’d found out about my debauchery of you, my filth infecting the Young Master of the manor, so I’d killed her to keep it quiet. I didn’t do it.” His accent slips, the deep received calm of a period drama cracking with the dropped letters of a peasant farmer brought in for comic relief. “I tried to scream, but I gagged on the leather.”

Ben feels the hot drip of tears from his own eyes, the quick flash of a sting as he tries to blink them away to hold the gaze of the man curled around him.

“He came in and yanked the scarf away, I begged. Anything. Said I’d leave. Never see you again. Never think on you.” Hux kisses the side of Ben’s throat, cold press of lips hard against his pulse, and Ben can feel the tremors running through him as he holds on tighter. “It…”

Ben feels the rough grasp of fingers against his face, and the sharp heat of a slap across his cheek. He bites into his own lip as his head moves, and manages to ignore the slight ringing to meet Hux’s eyes again.

“I just wanted to touch you once more. My Kylo.” The hand around Ben’s cock strokes him once as he feels rough thick fingers grab his hair at the roots and the press of stone against his knees.

He has to look away to make sure he’s not moving, and sees himself still sat still in the chair, despite the feeling of sharp stone against his knees. He feels a slow hand, slim fingers a match for the one at his cock, stroke up his stomach and press cold and hard against his pebbled nipples.

“Wanted to make you mine once more, hear you call my name. Run away together and never come back. But he kept screaming, spittle against my face as they held me down there.”

Ben cries out as he feels the unmistakable edge of a blade press against his skin and scrape across his scalp, as he feels the fluff and flash of short locks of hair brush against his cheeks, and he looks down at the table to see red strands falling onto their reflection obscuring his view of Hux’s pale eyes, he blows air down at the table, forgetting they’re not real and trying to move them.

The blade repeats the scrape across his whole head and the dissonance of seeing his own long dark curls in the side of his vision, and the steadily growing drift of red against the table makes him drift, gasping at the cold press of Hux’s hands at his cock and chest. “The blood in my eyes was the worst, it stung and cracked as it dried.” Ben barely feels the sting Hux describes, but he sees the dark red drips falling to the reflection amongst the locks of his… Hux’s hair.

He shakes his head to try and clear it, but he can feel the shackles digging in as he’s dragged to his feet and across the stone again, whimpering and begging through the blood on his lips. His cock hardening against the slow glide of Hux’s hand, chest twitching under the slow pull, tug and twist of cold fingers against him, and the sharp confused spikes of pleasure he can feel running across his skin.

“He shoved the glove back in my mouth and tied the scarf over it when I cried out. The sun behind the wood shadowed the rope, and I said your name. I just, I just hoped they wouldn’t hurt you. My love.”

The fire in the grate flares brightly, a wave of heat making the cold fingers even more noticeable against his skin as Ben writhes against the stimulation and the memories dripping into his head. The outline of a loop of rope appears every time Ben blinks, the afterburn of an image he’s never seen, but knows implicitly. “No, no, no.”

Blood rushes to his cock as the cold touch slides away from it and gently grasps his balls, strokes over the thin skin behind them and starts to circle his rim gently, the harsh feel of hands against his skin gripping and dragging him towards the burnt image drawing whimpers from him. He feels the drop in his stomach as he stumbles against steps, and doesn’t move, convinced it’s the jerk behind your gut you get when waking up but tenfold as Hux’s trembling get worse against him. Ben feels tight bands around his legs and across his chest pinning his bound arms against his chest, even as they stay stretched in front of him, and he feels himself go limp. Slumping forward to press his head against the table top, still holding Hux’s gaze as his mouth opens and closes wetly and tears soak into the red clumps of hair still obscuring his vision. His own hair brushing over his neck as Hux follows him down to the wood.

“Please stop. Please…” The words tumble out and fog up the surface against his skin.

A haze passes in front of his eyes and he feels the constriction of fabric when he breathes in and it flattens against his nose, he feels the rough drag of rope across his face and the press of a knot under his ear. There’s a slight amount of slack when it’s tightened against his skin, but it’s nothing like the nooses in the films he’s seen, it doesn’t lie at his shoulder, it’s against his ear, scratching the rough fabric of the hood against the shell of it. He can feel the shift of a hatch beneath his feet and he whimpers as his cock starts to drip, and two cold slim fingers slide inside him, burning hot and freezing him at the same time.

“Please…”

Hux leans closer, his cold hard weight pressing Ben against the table even more, the tears on the surface making his face slide with a slick squish as Hux’s fingertips reach inside of Ben and press and shift, slowly dragging his pleasure out even as he feels the pull up of the noose. The hatch still beneath his feet but the slack lessening til he’s gasping and pulsing precome inside his clothes. He feels the pull upwards as his feet peel away from the floor, tipped onto his toes then standing on nothing, his weight pulling down on his throat and sparks and spots flashing in front of sight. “Slow, it was so slow.” Ben gasps in a breath as his feet touch the ground again for a split second, but it’s not enough, his head swimming as the pressure increases in his head and inside him, the tight pull of a rope around his throat cutting off his air entirely as his legs and arms go limp and he feels another rush of air when his toes catch for a second.

He hears a clatter and his body jolts as he drops a few inches, resting on the rope and the cold laughter filtering in through the pounding in his head and the slow drip of come inside his underwear as Hux drags everything out of him, no air as he tries to scream around leather and silk and he feels the tiny burst of warmth as his fingers release from the wooden mover, and his tongue pushes forward against layers that only exist in his head, and the reflection fades to black in the darkened cold room, the fireplace empty and ashy.

The cold press inside him stops as the last pulse is dragged out of him and he gasps in air as his vision goes black.

\--- 

He doesn’t know how long he’s out for, waking up slowly, come dried and crunching against his skin uncomfortably, body limp and wrung out as he manages to pull himself from the surface of the table, dust clumping in the dried tears against his cheek and in his hair. He shivers slightly and swipes the carved out book from the floor, staring at the flaked and cracked gilt on it’s spine, the words barely readable. He glances down at the table and barely sees letters in the low light filtering through the window.

He grabs his phone from where it had slipped down the side of the chair and uses the flashlight to look down at it.

A neat script in the dust not currently clinging to Ben’s face reads “Will you come back?”

Ben’s throat aches, and he croaks as he tries to speak, instead reaching down to the wooden shape, “planchette, right? That was it.” He grinds out, regretting it immediately as his dry mouth scratches and pain flares up in his chest.

He wipes the dust from the small circle of glass and places it down on the table firmly.

YES.

**Author's Note:**

> Ben Solo uses a planchette he finds in a book and a Ouija board he finds in a strange room and accidentally summons a ghost who was wrongfully executed. The ghost confuses Ben with their lover Kylo and starts to describe the events of his own execution while touching Ben. Ben experiences the execution through physical sensation as if it is happening to him.
> 
> Please do let me know if there is anything else you would like me to tag for, I tried to cover the main parts, but as always there may be things that I don't feel need tagging but others do.


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